


everything is fine

by sinspiration



Series: the kent/aces grouplove au [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: ?????!??, AND HERE WE GO, Canon Compliant, Consent, Gangbang, Hurt/Comfort, Kent needs to be taken care of okay, Kinda, M/M, Multi, because there is a plot somehow, but yes, so much consent guys, still not a pwp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 05:03:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8784175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinspiration/pseuds/sinspiration
Summary: “I’m fine,” Kent says. He is. He’s a good captain, he’s a good player. He’s just also keeping everyone at arm’s length and how fucking stupid does that feel, when he should still be riding the high of another big win. But he needs to. He’s not good at anything else, especially not people.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I am as surprised as you are.

The trip to samwell does not go well.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise.

Kent says a lot of things that are heat-of-the-moment, things he doesn’t even mean and–

He leaves with a last biting comment because he’s an asshole, swings by his hotel to grab his overnight bag, and then goes straight to the airport. Buys a ticket to Vegas and then spends the next hour hiding in a corner in the VIP lounge before making his way to his first class seat and closing his eyes, hat pulled down low.

And the stupidest thing–the _stupidest thing_ is that he’s, he’s actually happy, for the most part. He misses his Jack (old best friend, not anymore and they’ve both changed, they’ve changed so much–) because he still misses what they used to have. He was high off a big win and-and wanted to share it. He shared his last win with people who were important to him. Jack still was on that list.

Well. Was, he guesses. Jack burned that bridge years ago, but Kent had taken the ashes and thrown them into the water.

He gets in late and stays up early torturing himself by playing every sentence over and over in his head (and remembering, remembering how they got this way, how–), crashing hard when his body can’t take it anymore.

He doesn’t go out. Pushes his team away because he doesn’t deserve them, and it twists something up inside him every time DJ or Swoops shoots him worried a look. He keeps catching Artemi and Smithy talking in low tones, Jeff and Carter looking frustrated and upset, but he’s not _good_ for them, he can’t–

He has to swallow and keep going, hold his head up and do what he’s actually good at, instead of messing up their lives by trying to stay in them.

Artemi looks fucking devastated when Kent says he isn’t up their usual movie night.

“Talk to me,” DJ begs one afternoon. “Or any of us. Please.”

“I’m fine,” Kent says. He is. He’s a good captain, he’s a good player. He’s just also keeping everyone at arm’s length and how fucking stupid does that feel, when he should still be riding the high of another big win. But he needs to. He’s not good at anything else, especially not people.

“You’re not fine,” Carter growls a couple days later.

“Leave me alone.”

“Kent…”

“I’m _fine_.”

He manages to get by for the next couple of weeks even if it hurts to look at them and everything tastes like sand.

 

—

 

It all comes to a head one Friday evening. Kent’s planning on watching tape until his eyes hurt, then going to bed.

Someone knocks on his door. Which is weird in itself because he lives in a gated complex and the only people that he knows who have the password, would be able to get past the doorman…

Oh.

Right.

This is it, Kent figures. Whoever it is has had enough, and they’re telling him so privately, because they’re all–they’re good guys.

It’s just as well that they leave him too.

He steels himself and opens the door, and immediately has to step back as Smithy shoulders himself inside, followed by everyone else.

“Oh,” Kent says faintly.

“Consider this a fucking intervention,” Jeff says, crossing his arms. “I don’t know what happened Kent, but enough is enough.”

_This is it. This is it._

“It’s because of Zimmermann, isn’t it?”

Kent startles. “What?”

Swoops tugs him into the living room, and they take it over, crowding around him on the overlarge sectional. Kent had gotten it months ago when– “We’ve been trying to figure it out,” Swoops says. “And DJ found pictures of you at that party.”

“We know it was at the school Zimmermann goes to,” DJ says.

“Ergo,” Jeff says. “Zimmermann. And whatever he said or did to you, I am this close to flying there myself and fucking his shit up–”

“Stop it.” Kent closes his eyes. “He didn’t do anything. It was my fault. I was stupid.” It’s always his fault.

“Bullshit.” Artemi is squished in next to Kent, and he grabs at Kent’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “You go and come back sad? No. Not…” he mutters something in Russian, “You are sad,” he ends up saying. “Let us make you not sad.”

“I’m fine.” He’s tired. He’s tired and he wants them to stay and he’s already messing up. Again.

“You are not fucking fine!” Kent’s eyes widen as he looks over at Carter, who keeps going. “Fuck, Kent, you’ve been saying it for weeks, and we all know you’re lying. _You_ know you’re lying! So just fucking let us _in_.”

“You know we’ve always got your back,” DJ says. “Whatever it is, let us actually _be there_ for you. Because we are. We’re here.”

“We always will be,” Swoops adds. Like it’s not even a question.

Kent’s not tearing up, he’s not, but his vision is maybe blurring a little, and Artemi pulls him against his chest, strokes his hair, while Jeff moves just that much closer.

“You guys can’t tell anyone,” he says eventually, when he’s got his voice back. He gets six different varieties of “Of course not,” and it makes him brave, that they’re all here for him, they’re all staying. And they’ve seen him at his worst, and they’re still deciding to stick around.

“Okay.” He can do this. “Okay.” So he tells them a little bit more about his past.

DJ and Carter end up staying over to sleep with him, and he has never felt more relieved to not be alone.

It’s not immediate, but in a million little ways they show how much they’re there for him and he–he can try. To be better. To be better for them.

It takes a while, but they manage to pull him out of it eventually.

 

—

 

The season’s just started and Kent doesn’t sleep well. He wakes up even earlier than he has to, chasing a nightmare that he is so glad he can’t remember. Tells himself he can’t remember. Manages to bash himself in the head as he pulls out a mug for coffee, and the mug drops, shattering.

So he’s cleaning up broken ceramic at 5am, before a full day of PT, training, and practice, followed by an evening game. He can do this. He’s fine.

The morning doesn’t get better. He even manages to twist an ankle out on the ice, and there’s a breath-stopping moment along with the pain where he thinks he might have really done something _wrong_ , but he manages to skate to the bench and after a few minutes the twinging goes away. Swoops taps him on the helmet, and DJ throws him a look. Kent shakes them off. “I’m fine.” He doesn’t expect them both to frown hard, but it is what it is.

Artemi crashes into him after they break for lunch, slinging an arm around his shoulder. “Eat with us, yes?”

Kent pulls on a wan smile. He’s not in the best mood, but his team deserves him to be better than this. “Sure, of course,” as Artemi leads him over to a table.

“Okay?” Artemi asks, when Kent sits down, Smithy and Carter solid presences on either side of him.

“Yeah,” Kent says, trying not to sound too tired. “Fine.”

He gets a _bunch_ of looks, but then Jeff chirps DJ for dipping his fries in salsa, like he always does, and DJ kicks him under the table like _he_ always does, and the attention is drawn away from Kent. He lets the conversation wash over him as he works on eating.

He finishes his own fries first, because they’re one of the few things he’s the mood for, and only starts on his steak after that. Swoops asks him something and Kent turns to answer, and when he glances back down at his plate, there’s another pile of fries on it. Carter and Smithy are both working on their steak and not even looking at him. Kent mentally shrugs and at least alternates eating the fries with bites of steak. At some point Carter leans back and curls an arm around the back of Kent’s chair.

 

—

 

The game runs late into OT, and they eke out a 3-2 win. Kent’s not too happy about it, because even if they won he should’ve played better. He’s got a reputation damn it, but he just wasn’t feeling it tonight. The fact that tomorrow’s a rest day is the only reason he’s able to muddle through the after-coverage media. “Yeah, the guys played great,” he says again and again, in a bunch of different ways. “Caleb’s goal was the beauty of the night.” “Of course I don’t mind that I didn’t score, it’s about the team, not all about me.” Not that the press would ever believe him when he says that _._

He’s expecting the lockers to be empty or nearly when, exhausted, he finally gets to them, but several of the guys are still milling around, in various states of dress, and he can hear the shower running too.

“What’re you people even still doing here,” he asks as he strips down.

Jeff shrugs. “Figured you’d need some support after tonight.”

Kent rolls his eyes. “I’m fine. It was a good game. We won, didn’t we?”

“Yeah,” DJ says, “And we could see you beating yourself up for not scoring from the fucking moon.”

“Screw you guys,” Kent says, as he heads into the showers. Smithy gets him with a towel on the way there and he throws a glare over his shoulder. Smithy just flashes him a grin.

He passes Artemi and Carter both heading out, towels around their waists, as he steps in under the spray, hissing a little as the hot water beats down on his sore muscles. He’s looking forward to going home and going to sleep, even if he knows he won’t be able to right away; he’s too keyed up.

Swoops corners him just as he finishes rinsing off. “Hey,” he says, backing Kent against the tile.

“Um.” Kent looks up at him. “Hey?”

“Me and the guys thought you might need something tonight.”

Kent swallows “…okay?”

Ten minutes later he’s gasping and clutching at Swoops who’s three fingers deep inside him, his other hand hitching up Kent’s leg, water sluicing down over them both. He’s relentless against Kent’s prostate, and Kent comes hard, the water quickly washing away the evidence.

Swoops takes him by the shoulders and leads in out to the lockers, and the guys are all there watching him. Waiting.

There’s a strip of fabric threaded through the slots in his locker, edges dangling down, and when Kent gets close to it he realizes it’s a tie.

They don’t usually do anything in the locker room. It’s not a space for that, porn aside, but…

But it’s been a pretty shitty day.

He turns to look back at everyone and then nods. “Okay.”

Swoops kisses him, long and deep, pulling Kent up on his toes, before he backs Kent up against the lockers and turns him around, reaching out and wrapping the ends of the tie around each of Kent’s wrists. Kent has to bend over for it, and, he realizes, he’s pretty much at the perfect height for–

Well. For them.

Kent’s expecting Swoops to knot the ends, but he just pushes the extra bits of fabric into Kent’s hands and closes his fingers around them, so Kent is keeping himself in place.

“Not gonna really tie me up?” Kent asks, trying for cocky, but his voice might shake too much for that.

It’s Jeff who says, “Like we’d risk hurting you.”

“Yeah,” from DJ. “Knots are harder to get undone if you need it.”

“Right,” Kent manages. “Okay.” He lets his head hang down when he hears the snap of a cap opening, and then the sound of someone walking forward.

“Going to be good for us,” Smithy says, taking hold of Kent’s hips. “So good for us. Always good.”

“Not… not tonight. Couldn’t even score one fucking goal–”

“Always good,” Smithy says sternly, before guiding himself in.

They take turns fucking into him, some careful with smooth, slow thrusts, some going so hard he sees stars, mixing it up so he’s totally overcome and eventually just panting out choked off little noises, clutching the ends of the tie tight because they’re the only thing holding him up besides their hands. They’re all murmuring praise as they go at him, in complete contrast to the fact that they’re fucking him open, making him sloppy with come and lube, and he’s so full with it he can’t think, can’t talk, can only take as he gets fucked within an inch of his life.

Carter’s the last one to come inside him, holding on to Kent tight, tight, tight and pressing a kiss under his ear when he finishes. Kent’s been reduced to a whimpering mess, trembling all over, but he won’t let go of the tie ends, won’t move until they tell him to. He trusts them all.

“Not done yet,” Artemi says, voice pitched low, and then something else is pressing at his hole, something bulbous and smooth. A plug, he realizes faintly. They’re plugging him up to keep their come inside of him.

Artemi gently tugs the tie out of Kent’s grip, unwinds it from his wrists, helps Kent stand upright. His legs barely support him. “Okay?” he asks, lips against Kent’s cheek. Kent manages a nod.

He barely registers them getting him dressed, and Carter nearly has to carry him out of the lockers and into the parking lot. He eases him into Swoops’ car and then slips into the front passenger seat, Jeff taking his place next to Kent in the back.

Every little movement puts pressure on the plug, and the ride to Swoops’ house is torture, even as Jeff keeps him occupied for nearly the entirety of the drive, kissing him slow and soft and messy. Kent clutches at him, whining into his mouth, and just tries to focus, but it’s hard, it’s so hard with Jeff’s mouth on his and the plug inside him, and the knowledge that it’s keeping all their come _in_.

When they finally, finally arrive, Carter doesn’t even bother trying to lead him inside, just picks Kent up and cradles him in his arms while he waits for Swoops to unlock the door. Kent lets his head rest against Carter’s chest, feeling his heart beat, thumping fast, and at least he’s not the only one going crazy with anticipation.

Jeff follows as Carter takes him down to the basement suite. Swoops has it decked out; it’s got a game room complete with pool table, a full kitchen, and a bedroom with a huge king bed and bathroom off to the side. They’ve all taken advantage of it, especially during a long weekend that Kent still thinks about when he needs a good, good memory to chase away the bad ones.

Carter sets him down on the bed and he and Jeff strip him out of his clothes, shucking their own and leaving them in little piles all around. Jeff reaches for him again, but Carter pushes him out of the way.

“You had him the whole car ride here,” Carter grumbles.

Jeff laughs and holds up his hands. “Okay, okay.”

So it’s Carter who blankets Kent, taking his mouth and then licking down, to his collarbone, a nipple, as Kent arches up underneath him, before Kent hears more footsteps.

“Sorry,” DJ says, coming into the room followed Smithy, Artemi, and Swoops, shirt already off before he drops it to the floor. “Red lights suck.”

“Also doesn’t drive fast enough,” Smithy mutters. DJ shoves him.

“I’m want turn,” Artemi says plaintively, pulling on Carters shoulder. Carter obligingly moves over and lets Artemi take his place, followed by DJ, who kisses him so long that Smithy bodily pulls him away to take his spot.

“Oh shut up,” DJ says. “You got him _first_ before.”

“Didn’t,” Smithy says immediately, looking up from where he’s sucking a hickey into the join of Kent’s neck and shoulder as Kent whines underneath him. “Swoops did.”

“And it’s my house,” Swoops puts in, “So I call dibs this time.”

“Not how it works anymore,” Jeff says with a snort, “But sure, yeah, by all means.”

“What…” Kent tries to concentrate past the plug and Smithy running tongue and teeth over his skin and the hand on his thigh that he’s _pretty_ sure belongs to Artemi. “What–” he tries again, lifting his head to peer around Smithy. They’re all naked now, lazily jacking themselves while they watch him, and Kent forgets what he’s trying to ask.

Swoops shushes him as Smithy moves away. Then he grabs Kent and slides him to the edge of the bed, hooking Kent’s legs over his shoulders. Kent lets out an involuntary sound as Swoops carefully pulls on the plug, “That’s it,” Swoops says quietly, “Relax for me, that’s it.” When it’s out, Kent can feel the come and lube start to dribble out of him before there’s the familiar snap of a cap again, and Swoops is sliding in two fingers dripping with lube, spreading the mess inside Kent around even more. The squelches are obscene, and he whimpers from the sound and feel of it even before Swoops lines himself up and pushes in, in, in, Kent gasping underneath him as he writhes on the bed.

Swoops coaxes him through another orgasm, and then they each take him in turn again, until Kent is openly sobbing from over-stimulation, hitched little breathes, hands fisted in the sheets as he thrashes. His whole world narrows to them and here and now, the smell of sex and clean sweat, the feel of being completely surrounded.

“You belong here,” Jeff grits out as he pounds into Kent, “Belong to _us._ ” And Kent can only manage _yes, yes, yes, I do, I do._

He doesn’t know how long he takes it, takes them, but it feels like hours, days. When DJ, the last of them, comes inside him he has never felt so used, so full, so _kept._

The feel of fingers pressing at his entrance again is what ends up being too much, and he cries out, weakly pushing at them, scrabbling on the sheets to try to get away from it. “No, no I can’t, no please–”

“Okay,” DJ murmurs, removing them slowly but immediately. “Okay. Let’s get you cleaned up, huh?”

Smithy pulls him into his lap and pets his hair, talking quietly to him in Russian, and by now Kent can at least pick out the endearments, sweet little nothings and Smithy calling him _so good, so good._ Then the rest of them come back and converge on him, running warm, wet washcloths over every inch of his skin, cleaning him up and cleaning him out. It’s soothing and wonderful and he feels–cherished.

There’s some talk over his head about who gets to sleep with him this time; they almost always go in twos, one on either side, enveloping him completely, and it’s a good thing Kent runs cold because otherwise he might’ve died of suffocation. As it is he loves it, loves being surrounded. Artemi and Smithy win, because Artemi counts back and Jeff and DJ had gotten him last time, and Swoops and Carter the time before that.

Artemi and Smithy pull down the covers while the others gather up clothes and kiss him goodnight before they leave to head to Swoops’ other guest bedrooms. Kent is bleary with the right kind of exhaustion this time, and he settles in happily.

“Will wake you up tomorrow,” Smithy says, cupping Kent’s cheek to kiss him, languid and sweet. Artemi takes his own goodnight kiss before curling an arm around him, and Kent already knows that they’re planning on a way to make him shake to pieces between them in the morning.

“Always looking out for me,” he mumbles, eyes already shut.

“We’re wanting to,” Artemi says quietly. Like it isn’t even a question. And by now Kent knows it’s not one. “Need us.”

Kent sighs out a _yeah_. Smithy kisses the back of his neck. “Sleep.”

“Mm-hm.”

His last thought before he drifts off is a Captain one; they’re all going to wake up starving. Swoops probably has tons of pasta and stuff waiting in the fridge though, because he always does now. They crash at his house more often than not.

But that’s tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [justwritins](http://justwritins.tumblr.com/) on tumblr and I'm total cp trash right now. Come say hi!  
> 


End file.
